


Empty Canvas

by Xekstrin



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9798650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xekstrin/pseuds/Xekstrin
Summary: I just wanted to write gross sweaty dirty drunken Bumblebee sex with lots of tattoos, and this is that. Please enjoy.





	

 

Yang swayed in place, trying to slide the key card into the door slot without success. Her free arm was wrapped firmly around her girlfriend's bottom, keeping her securely slung over her shoulder.

Blake still had a beer bottle in hand, taking intermittent sips from it as casually as if six foot tall women carried her viking style across hotels all the time. "Having trouble?" she asked, wiping the sweating bottle off on Yang's tshirt. She didn't care for how clammy it made her hands feel.

"No trouble," Yang insisted, jamming the key in several different directions. "None at all, none at–  _Hah_!" she crowed when the strip lit green and she could kick the door open. Not checking to make sure Blake was done with her beer, she upended her girlfriend onto the bed with a loud yell, throwing her fists up into the air. "Victory for Team RWBY!" 

Blake gulped the rest of her drink down, or what was left after a good amount of it splashed all over her chest. Drinking in excess was not her style, but tonight had been  _insane_. Easily the biggest crowd they had ever played, and the most enthusiastic to boot. Weiss and Ruby were still at the after party being thrown by their generous host, and even if they weren't– each pair got their own rooms tonight, a rare luxury considering they had spent the better part of a year cramped in a small white van the previous tour. 

"Oh my god," Yang said, stumbling backwards to brace herself against the table holding their room's TV. "Oh my god, I don't think I can feel my face."

Kicking off her shoes, Blake peeled her shirt off, parts of it sticking to her, caked with booze and stiff with dry, salty sweat. Flopping back in nothing but her bra, she embraced the feeling of air conditioning on her bare skin. "In a good way or a bad way?"

"In an  _oh my god, we played for over 10,000 people tonight fuck me up the ass, I cannot,_ way." The worn leather of her fingerless gloves slapped against her face and she groaned, though Blake could see her grinning between her splayed fingers. "I _cannot_."

"I can," Blake offered. "Do that. Fuck you up the ass, I mean."

Feigning offence, Yang gasped loudly, balling her tattooed hand into a fist and covering her mouth. "Oh, my!" she said, "Blake, you _dirty_! I had no idea you were such a dirty drunk. A dirty, dirty drunk. A dirty–" she giggled, tromping over to the bed on unsteady feet. Blake waited until she was close to quickly sit up, grabbing her by the lapels of her dusty leather jacket and yanking her down. Yang landed on her knees, holding onto Blake to balance herself. 

Wriggling back across the bed and pulling Yang along with her, Blake grasped at her face and kissed her, artlessly, hurriedly. Yang responded at once, her fingers coiling through Blake's hair to yank and tug before sliding down to fumble open her bra. Blake helped her, having only enough time to toss it aside before Yang had her pinned down with her body weight, both hands squished between them to squeeze at her breasts and kissing her like she'd never see her again after tonight. She tasted like sweat, and salt, and screwdrivers. How many screwdrivers had she had tonight? How many had _Blake_ had? 

The whole world outside of Yang melted away in a spinning haze. Yang sucked on her lip piercings, pulling on them just to the point of pain, but not crossing it. Her blunt nails tried to dig into her, leaving little crescent moons in their wake. Somehow she escaped the confines of her jacket, discarding it on the floor along with her tshirt. "I love you," she gasped against Blake's neck before pulling at it with her teeth, more vicious than usual. Her self control had slipped away a long time ago, somewhere around the first round of shots with cheeky names like 'blowjob' and 'orgasm'. "I love you," she said again, hips pressing insistently forward, grinding shamelessly together, the friction in their jeans unbearable. "I love you. God. I love you. Please." She rested her head between Blake's breasts, still biting and sucking everywhere he lips could find. " _Please_."

She mumbled it a few more times against her lips until Blake realized she had no idea what Yang was trying to say. "Are you... okay?" Blake asked, laughing despite her own feverish urgency to be touched. 

Yang undid the top button on Blake's jeans, hands shaking. She looked up then, meeting Blake's eyes. Blake sucked in a breath, blood boiling at the intensity in her gaze. The lighting of the room made her pale eyes seem darker, more focused. Instinctively, Blake wrapped her legs around Yang's waist, pulling her as close as she could as Yang struggled to fit her fingers under the waistband of her pants. She reached down, found her. Holding back a moan, Blake closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the pillows.

"I love you," Yang said again, whispering it into her ear. She seemed to put her whole body into every stroke, her lean, wiry muscles roiling under Blake's hands. "Please let me love you." Her fingers spread Blake apart, the rough callouses rubbing firmer each time Yang pressed her hips forward, using her body weight to add more pressure against Blake's clit.

Biting her tongue, Blake couldn't say anything, nails scoring across Yang's back and ribs, feeling the raised surface of tattoos on top of tattoos, old scars. Marks other people had left on her. People not Blake. 

Yang managed to hook her fingers inside her, fucking her roughly, her thumb still bumping against Blake's clit with every thrust of her hips. Unable to hold it back, Blake broke her silence. She groaned hugely as she felt herself growing closer to the point where she knew she would come, whether or not she was ready to. Sweat slicked bellies slid sinfully together, Yang panting with exertion, Blake crying out in protest as much as arousal. She wanted to touch Yang too, wanted to come together, but she wasn't giving her enough room to wrestle with those stupidly skinny jeans she wore to every show. The only words she could squeeze out as she climaxed were Yang's name.

She stopped only when Blake begged her to, pulling her hand free to bring it up to their lips. Blake sucked it clean, tongue traveling between the v's of her dirty fingers, quietly content. The A/C breathed on them, drying off the sweat. They should have been exhausted, but adrenaline and sex and success was still pumping through their systems, and Blake still needed to get Yang off. In fact, she made a promise to herself that neither of them were sleeping until that happened. 

A little more sober now than they had been when they fell into the room stinking drunk, Blake remembered she had something special for Yang in her suitcase. "I have a present for you," she said softly, kissing her girlfriend's forehead. "Want me to go get it?"

"Okay," Yang said, sounding subdued, but before Blake could ask what was wrong she reached up to touch one of the hickies already forming on Blake's collarbone. "I didn't mean to be so rough. I'm sorry."

Blake tilted her her up to kiss her again. Then she got up, rummaging around her open suitcase till she found it. "Tada," she said, hopping back onto the mattress with her sketchbook. "I finished the design on the tattoo I wanna put on your back."

Yang perked up immediately, all guilt vanished. "Really? Oh, is it good? Is it cool? Is it gross and gaudy and loud?"

"It's all those things, just like you asked."

"Excellent."

Flipping over to the right page, Blake showed her. It was a pair of twin dragons, the Eastern, wingless kind. They twined around each other in frenzied bloodlust, claws digging into each other's golden scales, and rose vines crawling up along their sinewy bodies as they fought. Blake pointed out the details, smiling at Yang's growing excitement. "Oh man!" she said at last, cautiously trailing her fingers over it once she had permission from Blake to touch it. "Oh man, this is so great, Blake. This is so sick."

"There's a secret in them, too," Blake said, resting her head on Yang's shoulder and catching her hand, squeezing it tight. "They're actually not fighting. They're having crazy wild dragon sex."

That shocked a laugh out of Yang, a full bodied one that left Blake feeling warm for having caused it. Setting it aside, she scooted onto Yang's lap, wrapping her arms around her neck. "And I want to do another one," she said, kissing her long and deep. "Right here." She touched Yang's lower stomach, right above her pelvis. "Maybe some brass knuckles. More roses. I haven't decided yet."

Her own tattoos were tight, geometric, and carefully contained. Each had a purpose, each linked to the other, each had a meaning. But Yang had a misshapen, eclectic collection on her body, almost none professionally done, or plotted or planned in advanced. In fact some of them looked like they'd been carved into her skin with a knife and a spoiled bottle of ink. It left Blake feeling free to be a little more adventurous with her designs, and Yang enthusiastically approved of being her human canvas. Tongue gliding down her neck, Blake slunk down along her body, kissing the spots she wanted to ink up next. Getting off of her and onto the floor, she undid Yang's jeans, unlaced her boots and pulled them all off.  
  
"And a cute anklet charm, right here," she said, kissing it and making Yang giggle before moving up to give her calf the same treatment. "Hmm, nothing here, not yet." She worked her way back up, one knee on the mattress, Yang's leg propped over her shoulder. "And my initials here," she said, biting the inside of her damp thigh. "And here." She turned her head, biting the other one. "But I'm going to be the one to ink it." She didn't say it, but she didn't have to: _Nobody else is allowed to touch you there._

Yang lazily hooked her hands behind her head, comfortably making a pillow for herself as she watched Blake. "Your artist's signature?" she guessed, sucking in a breath when Blake's tongue parted her lower lips open instead of answering. "Um... Blake–"

Shuffling closer, Blake quit teasing and started working her tongue and lips against her, stroking along her entrance before returning to her clit. Soft, but consistent. Then harder, almost cruelly so. And then a drop in the pressure, removing all sensation before slowly building it up again until Yang was squirming, her hands buried knuckle deep in Blake's hair.

" _Blake–_ " she said again, eyes clenched shut. "You can't–  _ah_!" she released Blake to throw her forearm over her eyes, lower lip caught between her teeth. "Can't keep making me feel this way..."

Not responding, Blake only sighed against Yang, sucking and teasing her to the edge. She felt her coming closer, her breathing interrupted by squeaky, hitching gasps, hands trailing up her own body, stroking herself. "Shit," she said, groaning. " _Shit_."

And then she stopped. "Now, tell me you love me, Yang."

Yang's eyes shot open in surprise, eyebrows bunching together as she looked down at Blake. "Wh– I'm–"

Blake squeezed her thighs, getting up a little to hoist her hips higher, tanned legs dangling in the air. "Do it. Tell me you love me again." Her eyes narrowed, focused razor sharp.

"I uh... I do," Yang said, an embarrassed grin gracing her features. "I love you."

Satisfied, Blake returned to her pleasure, working to bring her back up to the peak she had left her off at. But then she stopped again, fingers digging into her yielding flesh. "Say it again," she ordered once Yang was squirming underneath her, denied release making her wild.

This time there was less pause before Yang did as she demanded, and so less work to bring Yang to the point where she was pulling at the bedsheets in her writhing, expression desperate. She kept it up, kept pausing to torture her until Yang wasn't afraid to be loud. Constantly saying it so that Blake didn't have an excuse to stop again– _I love you, I love you–_ Yang came with it on her lips. Blake hummed with pleasure at the sound of Yang's voice cracking, her body melting into her arms.

And when she crawled up her to kiss her on the lips, she smiled to hear hear Yang say it again, softer, a whimper under her breath. "I love you too," she said, gently rolling her thumb across Yang's lips. "I want to write it down somewhere on you. I want my words all over your body. My drawings. My lyrics."

"Yeah?" Yang said, a hint of mischief in her voice. Blake, tiny, delicate Blake, had a way of making her feel vulnerable in the best possible way. "Where?"

"C'mere. Let me show you."

And she did.


End file.
